


but it's warm in your arms

by beccasaur



Category: Marvel
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 07:11:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beccasaur/pseuds/beccasaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is warmth, thawing him from the inside out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but it's warm in your arms

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Avengers Rare Pair Makeout Fest with the prompts windows, snow, and warmth.

“I hate the cold,” he murmurs as Natalia – Natasha, now, though he can never think of her as anything other than Natalia – comes to stand beside him. 

He's standing by the window, staring out at the snow; when she suggested whisking him away from the city for Christmas, that it might be easier for him without the celebrations and expectations of their friends, it had seemed like a great suggestion.

Not to mention, of course, a romantic one.

But Bucky wishes she'd chosen one of her safehouses that was in a warmer climate. Somewhere without snow.

“I know,” she says simply, but she knows, too, that this was the right location to pick. James might hate the snow and the cold, too many memories of being frozen over and over again, but he needs it, as well. He can't settle if it's hot. 

He'll adapt, but it will take time.

She thinks that he's sick of her telling him that, but time is the only thing that will make it all easier for him. He's made a lot of progress already; his head is calmer, he doesn't snap anymore, or curl up at her feet and beg her to make it stop, but they both know that he's got a way to go before he's really _Bucky_ again.

That's okay; Natasha has all the time in the world.

It's cold here, by the window. They'd been lying by the fire, the only source of heat in this draughty, half-abandoned house, but while Natasha had fallen asleep easily, there had been only so long he could watch her before he'd needed to move, retreat into the shadows. 

He gets lost in his thoughts easily, that's all. His entire life was made up of cold, of ice and snow and freezing, over and over again, and that's not easy to shake. None of the things in his head are, and she understands that. She's so good at this, the guiding thing. She knows when to push him to talk, or distract him, and when to just let him be.

It's because she's been through this herself. Because she's experienced first-hand the pain of her mind splitting apart, of being so unmade that she doesn't know who she is anymore. 

Bucky's not sure that he knows himself, yet; he doesn't feel like the Bucky who was an American soldier, nor does he quite feel like the James that Natalia had known in Russia, but she's helping him find himself. Helping him to build himself back up, piece by piece.

If it weren't for her, after all, he might have put a bullet in his brain.

Even though he's looking out the window, he can feel her eyes on him, and he moves behind her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close against his bare chest.

His bionic arm is like ice, betraying just how long he'd been standing there before she'd dragged herself away from the fire to join him, and Natasha wishes that she'd put on more than just his shirt. She shivers, and he hugs her tighter, warm, living hand rubbing her arm.

“Come back to the fire,” she says, eyes on the snow, now. There's no denying that it's beautiful, but she dislikes it too, though those who know of her heritage seem surprised to hear it; they don't know that she's had lifetimes' worth of long winters to get sick of the stuff.

“I can't.” He shakes his head, and Natasha turns in his arms to face him, hands cupping his face. It soothes him, when she does that, makes him focus on her and not the ghosts in his mind. Sometimes he needs her to bring him hurtling back to the present.

(It's not easy, when so much of them is in the past.)

“Of course you can,” she encourages, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together before she pulls him over with her. No arguments. He could fight her off if he wanted to, of course, there's still the gut reaction to shove her away and find a knife, but Bucky doesn't want to, _James_ doesn't want to, so he fights that impulse instead, pushes it down with everything else. 

One day, he's going to have to face up to all these automatic responses that he's repressing. Maybe he'll even have to fight her. But not today.

With one last look out the window, Bucky lets himself focus on _her_ , drawing all of his thoughts back to the present. She sits down among the blankets and pillows they pulled there earlier, and he stands and watches her for a moment.

The firelight makes her hair glow even redder than usual, her skin cast in a warm orange, shadows flickering, and it is the perfect image of who she is, he thinks.

She has her dark, so much more than people realise, but she is warmth and light, too, and she is the one thing he can focus on to ease the guilt and the pain for a little while. 

“Are you going to stare all day, or are you gonna join me?” she asks, amusement evident in her voice, and he rakes a hand through his hair before he sits, letting her lay him down, eyes never leaving her.

Her hands are gentle, soothing; this isn't the build up to sex, there's none of the passion and raw heat that they'd had earlier, barely able to light the fire before they were trying to rid each other of their clothes as quickly as possible, nor is it the image he has of pressing her up against that window, but it's better, almost.

She props herself up on one elbow, looking down at him, fingers smoothing over scars and knots of muscle, sliding over his abs and then back up. His flesh-and-blood hand is in her hair, tangling in her loose curls, and she lifts the metal one, pressing it to her cheek and leaning into it until it starts to warm again. 

Like his heart does, apparently; Natalia looks so relaxed like this, so comfortable, even though he knows that her actions have been chosen carefully to help calm him down, that he can't help but smile.

“That's it,” she murmurs lazily, eyes half closed, and he has to admit that maybe it's not so bad, right here by the fire. “I thought I was going to have to make you smile.”

He chuckles, and that's what she wanted; she wanted to pull him away from his thoughts again, remind him that there are good things in the world, and that he is allowed to enjoy them. It might be simple, the two of them lying together, but she likes it more than anyone would have thought.

“And how were you going to do that?” His words cause her to smile enigmatically, biting her lip as if considering before she settles down, head on his chest. 

“You know I have my ways.”

He does, and he doesn't feel cold anymore, can't feel cold with her there, one hand in her hair and the other wrapped around her, holding her close.

She is warmth, thawing him from the inside out.


End file.
